


Down The Drain

by Kaydu



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Reality, Author can ramble, Dubious Morality, F/M, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No beta sorry, Not Canon Compliant, OOC, POV First Person, Twincest Kind of, Vulgar Language, at all so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-26 02:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20382241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaydu/pseuds/Kaydu
Summary: The water is turning cold, and the retreating heat carries our sins down the drain with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to be incredibly OC because it's AU and that's the way I've written it. I don't own Bleach, so don't sue me, and this is BOYxBOY twincest so, if you aren't into that sort of thing, then don't read. Easy as that.
> 
> Oh, and it's going to be a bit strange, being as it's the first time I have written in first person point of view and, believe it or not, this really is how my own thoughts run through my brain... so repetitiveness and drawn out sentences are to be expected. And lots of random inserts as well.
> 
> Hope you like it.
> 
> As always, the Pugs made me do it. Kind of.

I'm drinking again.

Seems to be like a regular thing now. Beer just has that bitter, fuck you taste to it you know? Something you can't really avoid 'cause it lingers on your tongue long after you have drank the damn thing. It's delicious.

It's salvation.

I'm sitting at a little round table in the bar that I have been drug too, my eyes lazily scanning over the occupants. They don't really hold any interest for me. And why should they? My heart and my eyes are for one person only.

I trail my gaze around and, low and behold, there he is.

He's absolutely beautiful.

His alabaster skin nearly glows underneath the lights of the bar, this club that he has talked me into visiting, his just as white hair tossed in disarray as he dances with abandon. His body is a bit smaller than mine, slender but not weak. His lips are curled into a smile, showing off pearly straight teeth and I feel my chest clench in disgust.

There's a girl dancing with him. She's curvy, big breasted and strawberry blonde just like he likes them. Taller than him with her heels on and grinding against him with an ass that could hold a beer on its own and it seems to make him go even wilder, that slightly off smile spreading as he puts his hands to her small waist and nearly molds himself to her body.

I feel something sour rise up in the back of my throat so I look away and drown it with another long chug of my beer to finish it off. I stare at the bottle for a few seconds debating and then figure, what the hell right? It's not like I'm driving or anything so it won't hurt if I get incredibly intoxicated.

When I finally move to the bar I don't see him or his dancing partner anywhere. Doesn't matter anyways, I would rather them smother each other back in some corner where I don't have to witness it. I plaster myself to the bar, not even bothering to sit down on a stool since I don't plan on staying longer than to just grab a beer. I lean a bit over the bar top, raising an idle hand to the bar tender who nods to me in acknowledgment.

My world sways a bit and I go to straighten myself when suddenly there is a presence behind me and I don't quite know what to do about it as large hands smooth out over my rib cage and down to rest on my hips and pull me back against a rather broad strong chest. Then the smell of something spicy invades my senses, tingling my nose, as warm breath fans out over my already heated skin and I feel my skin prickle in anticipation.

"If you keep leanin' over the bar like that, I'm just going to fuck you over it."

What a lewd thing to whisper to a stranger. But I can't deny that it sends chills of heated excitement down my body which is a surprise in and of itself. It's been a very long time since I have gotten a reaction like that other than with him.

So, why not? He's off snogging some busty woman in a corner, so why can't I do something as well? I mean, hell. It's not like he will ever return my feelings anyways. It doesn't work that way. He can't.

And so, as my drink is put in front of me, I turn around in those thickly muscled arms and look up into the next wildest set of eyes that I have ever seen. Not because of the color... no. When I say wild, I mean truly and incredibly wild. Like an animal.

He is easily around six feet six inches tall, if not taller. His body, threaded with muscles that jump with even the smallest of movements, is tanned as if he has spent a little too much time in the sun. He has no eyebrows, which kind of works, and those eyes are the deepest green I have ever seen in my life. His hair, oddly enough, is done back in thick sections of braids, and I swear when he shifts his footing I hear a tinkle of bells over the loud music pumping through my ears.

And then he cracks a grin, and I have to catch my beer bottle because I almost let it fall. It's psychotic. It nearly splits his jaw in half, curling up like he's just seen the most amusing thing in the world, and a long tongue darts out over his lips over that grin and I think I almost die right then and there.

He's perfect.

I take a quick sip of my beer and set it on the bar top behind me blindly and then I'm rocking up onto the balls of my feet, pressing my chest against his and the words fall from my lips faster than I can actually think them.

"You can fuck me wherever you want."

I swear, I don't normally do things like that. Hell, I've only had sex twice. Once back in high school with a girl I had been dating for two years before I realized that I just couldn't get off with a woman, and once right after I graduated with a guy who I had known for quite some time and was the gayest person in the world. I swear, he even wore feathers attached to his eyelashes. He wasn't really subtle. And he was all for letting me pitch.

So, yeah. I've never told anyone that they could fuck me, but this guy...

That smile, that wild look in his eyes that just draws me in... I hate to admit this, but I think I'm a masochist, because it reminds me of him so much that I almost instantly feel my jeans tightening as blood rushes to my more lust driven head.

And then he growls and is pulling me through the crowd of people with an iron grip latched onto my wrist and I have no choice but to follow. Not that I wouldn't have followed anyway. I stumble when he jerks me through the back door of the club, out into an alleyway that smells musty and wet but thankfully there are no garbage cans because that would be disgusting.

Thick arms catch me around the waist to keep me from falling and then I am being pressed against a brick wall, that wicked gleaming smile flashing in front of my face before he is tugging at my pants as lips bruise their way over my jawbone and down my neck. When he reaches the curve of it he opens his mouth wide and I only have a second to wonder what's going on before his teeth are sinking into my flesh in the hardest bite anyone has ever given me and I can't help but cry out and slam my head back against the wall.

Oh yeah, masochist. My fingertips immediately start tingling and my hips arch out against his, begging. Begging! I've never begged for anything in my entire life, least of all sex. In an alleyway outside of a club, drunk, with a stranger. But I just can't find it in myself to care because strong hands have finally been able to rip my pants down to my ankles with my boxers trailing along with and I'm not proud to say that a mewl, like a freaking cat, winds its way up and out of my throat and a tight grip wraps its way around my hardening arousal.

His hands are rough. He must work with them a lot. But it doesn't bother me because his lips have seared their way to mine and my legs are turning into jello at the mere ferocity of the kiss that is stealing away my breath. His tongue is as wild as the rest of him, flicking around my mouth in a frenzy of tasting and mapping and I can't keep up with him because he is just too fast, too intense.

And I don't know how he's done it without me noticing but suddenly I'm being hoisted up into his arms and my pants and my shoes are discarded messily on the dirty ground and his own torn up and grease stained pants are trapped around his ankles. He must work in a garage or something.

He forces my legs to wrap around that incredibly ripped torso and my mind is so far gone by now that I allow it to happen, black spots dancing behind my eyes as I stare at that crazed grin on his face. I wonder if he's as insane as he looks. Probably. We are half naked in an alleyway between a closed clothing store and a club after all.

I feel something long and thick and hard brush against my cheeks and suddenly the world snaps back into place in my mind and I realize that I'm about to let some psychotic man fuck me outside in the wide open view of anyone who chooses to look.

There is a moment where I consider backing out, where I think that this just might not be a good idea, and then the drunken part of my mind remembers pale hands roaming over a curvy strawberry blonde and I lock my ankles together behind his back and grind my erection against his stomach with a small, breathy moan.

I don't exactly know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. I guess I took for granted that Yumi had slept with men before me... many men in fact... and so he would be accustomed to such a thing, but god damn my brain for not connecting the dots.

Because, let me tell you, spit is not a good enough lubricant when you're getting railed in the ass for the first time.

He didn't even try to prepare me like Yumi had showed me how to do, he just spit in one hand in a rather vulgar way before spreading it over just the head of his member before snapping his hips forward and burying himself balls deep inside of me.

I think I must have blacked out for a few moments because then the palm of a hand is lightly slapping the side of my face and I blink open my eyes to his Cheshire grin and the stinging pain I feel where he has impaled me has dulled somewhat.

"Alrigh' there, twinkle toes?"

His voice is rough and scratchy and I scrunch my nose up at what he calls me. Twinkle toes, eh? Despite the burn and the ache twisting up my spine I manage to give him a weak growl and my words come out on a choked gasp.

"Do I look like a fairy to you, jackass?"

OK, so maybe antagonizing the guy whose got his dick shoved up inside of you isn't really the smartest thing to do, but damn if I am going to be called twinkle toes by some behemoth of a man just cause he's having sex with me.

A rumbling chuckle is the other man's answer and then I feel a pull so deep inside of me that at first I'm not exactly sure what it is until the man snaps his hips forward to bury himself into me again. The pain flares up again and I bite down on my lower lip so hard that I taste blood on my tongue. He seems to enjoy my expression because his hands grip at my ass tighter as he begins to move, every thrust giving a deep stab inside of me that has me gasping and growling and clawing at his arms.

"Zaraki's the name," he growls at me in that baritone of his.

With green eyes flashing he leans in closer, those teeth ripping over my exposed collar bone, and I think I feel skin break but I'm not sure and I don't really care because at that moment everything kind of happens at once.

He hits something inside of me that makes my vision speckle white and I latch my fingers into his braids so tightly that it causes his head to snap backwards with a laugh, my own lips parted in a strangled cry of pleasure that echoes off of the walls of the alleyway. And then in the same instant I am stumbling on my feet, using the wall as leverage so that I don't fall off of my trembling legs and wobbly feet.

I'm disoriented for a moment and then there is a face in front of mine, cheeks flushed and unique eyes flashing in rage and disbelief and it takes me a second to realize that it's him in front of me and my own bleary eyes search the surroundings.

Zaraki is a few feet away, slipping his pants up those long muscled legs and looking quite amused if not a little frustrated at the sudden interruption, those crazy eyes focused on my own as a slow grin over takes his features again. And then white hair is invading my sight and I have a face full of him again. I finally register what he is saying.

"-the fuck is wrong with you! You're in a god damn alley way, Ichi! You don't even know this guy!"

He's waving one of his pale hands frantically in the direction behind him, and I can see the top of Zaraki's head over the top of white hair and my breathing starts to slow down as I assess my current situation.

I still have a raging hard on. And even though I have a piercing ache in my back side, I still have the incredible desire to let Zaraki continue what he started. I want him to hit that spot again that made me see stars. It was amazing.

"Are you even fuckin' listenin' to me?" You know, it's times like these that I wish he didn't know so much about me. He can tell exactly when I'm not paying attention, exactly when I'm telling a lie. He knows my favorite color, my favorite food, my favorite cartoon from when I was four years old. He knows my favorite lullaby, and he knows how long I had to stay in the hospital after I was born because I was about two weeks too soon.

He knows all of this because he was right there beside me. Sure, he was born about two minutes before me and that makes him technically the older one but really, what does two minutes really count? Twins don't worry about that sort of thing.

Now before you go all postal, let me defend myself. I know, you're thinking... sick, huh? I'm sick. In the head, right? I know it. If I could change the way I feel, I would do it in a heartbeat. I don't want to feel like this. It disgusts me. I disgust me. It's wrong. Morally and ethically and every other sort of wrong that you can think of, but I just can't help it. I've tried so hard to do anything I can to stop feeling this way, but nothing works and eventually I just accepted that it isn't going to change. It never will, and I will have to go through life bottling up this sick perversion that I have for my brother.

It's not that simple to explain either. Our mother was the most loving, most caring woman I have ever met in my entire life. She died when me and my brother were seven and it nearly tore our family apart, but we stayed strong because it's what she would have wanted. She was always like that; a fighter no matter the situation.

My mother and father... they were trying for a baby for so long. For a while there they thought that they weren't going to be able to have any. And then my mom was coming home from work one night and got attacked. She was raped in the back of a van and left to bleed on the side of a road when the cops found her.

She lived through the attack, obviously, and was even getting on very well with the therapist that she was going to see in order to deal with the mental turmoil that she was going through. Her and dad got back into the swing of things, and they actually were able to start up having intercourse again with relative ease. She said it's because she had no fear of her husband and knew that he was nothing like the evil man who had raped her.

And then, two months later, she comes up pregnant. Oh, were they happy. They thought that there must be a reason they couldn't conceive before. It must have been god waiting for that tragedy to strike so that he could balance it out with the gift of life.

When they found out that she was pregnant with twins, the joy escalated. Not only were they negating the bad that had happened, but they were also given something more; something extra. I think it was the happiest that they have ever been together, and that's saying a lot. You should have seen them together. Just being in the same room flooded you with their love.

And then we were born.

When my brother came out, there was a strange stillness to him that scared even the doctors. And he was so, so pale. Pale as death. I heard that mom had started to choke up, that as soon as the first tear fell from her eye he came too with a vengeance, screaming at the top of his lungs. The damage was already done though, she knew. She knew that he was going to be different from the moment she laid her eyes on him.

He's an albino, you see. With skin so white it looks like fine china, and a stature that is toned but still somewhat on the smaller side. His hair refuses pigmentation, a shock of white splayed out on top of his head. His eyes are the kicker, though. They thought he was going to be blind at first, because even the doctors say that they have never seen anything like it before. His iris's are this brown that is so light it almost looks gold, especially since the whites of his eyes aren't white at all. Their pitch black. And his tongue.. that tongue that has two piercing's right in its middle, is tinged the color blue.

And then came me. Standing side by side we look identical, you know. Our facial features, our expressions, and even though I am a bit more bulkier than he is, we still have the same build and we are exactly the same height.

But whereas his skin is soft and white, mine is olive tan. While his eyes are gold on black, mine are syrup brown. And while his hair can blend into a white plaster wall, mine stands out like a freaking beacon; bright, natural orange red.

That's right. It's like he was dipped into a bucket of bleach when he was born, and God just decided to throw buckets of paint at me to see what came out.

But, shit happens, right? People are born differently, sometimes with defects that can't be explained. But no, no. I wish it was something like that.

I think it was after my mother died that I started wondering why my brother and I look the way we do. You see, around the age of ten I started noticing how many other kids around my brother and I resembled their parents.

Renji has red hair like his dad, Rukia and Byakuya have black hair like their mother, and Inuoe has strawberry blonde hair and brown eyes like her brother and both of their parents. That's when I started really looking at my dad. You know, staring at him.

He has this dark, dark brown hair that almost looks black and these deep set dark chocolate eyes. His jaw is nice and squared, and his shoulders are wide. My mother had this dark blonde hair that was almost a light brown color. Her eyes were a strange grey brown too.

And then there were our little twin sisters, Yuzu and Karin. Yuzu came out a perfect image of our mother. Karin, a perfect image of our father.

After we graduated high school about two years ago and started college together, I realized that I had somehow developed inappropriate feelings for my twin. It was a shock to say the least. In more ways than one. I always thought what I felt for him was what every twin feels for their sibling. A deep seated affection and closeness that only other twins could understand.

But then I had walked into our shared dorm room while Shiro was fucking this girl senseless against his desk, and it was like a cold knife thrust into my chest. Imagine in that one fleeting second that your entire world collapses around you and your vision tunnels until all you can see is the person you love, the person you crave, having sex with someone else. Let me tell you, it was enough of shock to realize that I wanted my own brother for me to stay away for the rest of the weekend.

Shiro had called all Saturday and Sunday trying to apologize for not putting our universal sign on the door... (literally, it's a sign. Shiro made it himself as a joke at first, but it kind of stuck. It hangs from the doorknob and says: 'If you're a bitch, wait 'til I get done railing this chick and then it's your turn.' Crude, but effective.) I hadn't picked up and then laughed it off Monday morning when I finally came back, telling him that I had let my phone die and didn't get any of his calls.

I think he knew I was lying, but he let it slide. Whenever I saw that sign hanging on the door afterwards, which was quite often, I would go stay with a friend for a night or two before coming back. The smell of sex in the room made my stomach churn.

And so, because I had been watching my dad and remembering my mom and seeing the likeness of Karin and Yuzu to them both, I knew that somehow my brother and I were different. And so I managed to get our DNA tested against our Dad's, and then I knew.

It wasn't both of us that were different. It's just me.

Shiro has Mom and Dad's DNA. Funny thing, right? The albino being the one that ends up the normal one. But, I guess that explains a lot. I have attributed these sick urges for my brother on that monster. That disgusting man whose genes I suppose I share.

Because although we are twins and look exactly alike with the exception of color, he shares Mom and Dad's blood, and I'm a mutt whose half of our mother, and half of the sick man who raped her. Mom had just started conceiving Shiro when, rare as it might be, that sicko's sperm managed to mix and make its way in as well.

It's his fault. It's his disgusting blood inside of me that makes me want Shiro. I just know it.

He's yanking me into my pants now. He's incredibly angry. His beautifully exotic eyes are narrowed and his teeth are bared in a snarl as he picks my shoes up off of the ground, taking my upper arm in his hand and tugging me towards the mouth of the alleyway. Not before I toss one more look in Zaraki's direction, though, and his crazy smile is back as he reaches out and tucks a folded up drink napkin into my back pocket as I pass.

And then Shiro and I are in the parking garage, his neck flushed in anger as I stumble after him with a few mumbled protests. My ass hurts, after all, and he is practically making me jog to the car. I wince as we stop and his hand propels my body forward to thunk against his car. I clutch onto it, my world tipping again as booze and pain mixes in my body, and I place my cheek against the top of his car and watch him as he stalks abound to the driver's side barking a mean "Get tha fuck in tha car!"

I stumble while opening the door and manage to tumble into the bucket seat with a soft whimper, my lower back arching away from the back of the seat as if it will relieve the sharp pain raking up my spine. He snarls beside me, slamming his own door shut as he cranks the car, his expression murderous as he peels out of the parking garage without waiting for me to buckle my seat belt.

His fast, erratic driving is making me sick. He is taking corners too fast and not only does it make my head spin, it also makes me slam around against the door and the dashboard, causing more pain then I am already in. It's like this all the way up until we make it back to the campus and he throws his car into park before stalking out of the car towards the dorm.

I grumble, fumbling behind him as quick as I can because he has the card to swipe to get up through the main doors, and then before I know it we are in our joined room and he is throwing things around and I don't exactly know how to take it.

I'm not too worried about him making a lot of noise. There isn't anyone here on our floor anymore because it's a holiday weekend and most people have gone off to visit families or the beach or something. Shiro had said he wanted to stay here and study for exams coming up, so I had stayed with him. But it's kind of frightening.

You see, Shiro isn't like me. Sure, he's a bit off, but he doesn't fly off the handle like I do unless it's something extremely serious. I was always the one getting into fights with everyone at school because I would catch people making fun of us and how we look and I would just lose it, you know? And then when Shiro started getting older and we went into high school, everyone was too spooked by his looks to bother him, and so I got the shit end of the stick and got double the attention. I was always in detention or after school correction or suspension.

But Shiro. He's always so calm. The only time I have ever seen him completely lose it is when we were out with Karin and Yuzu and some street bum darted out from behind one of those really big green garbage bins... the metal ones?... and took ahold of Yuzu and put a knife to her throat. Told us to give him all our money and she wouldn't get hurt.

Shiro lost it. One second he was kind of in front of us, to the side, and the next he had the guys hair in his fingers and was slamming his head repeatedly against a light pole with loud, sick cracks that had our sisters' waking up in nightmares for months. I wont ever forget his face that night. Even though he was angry, every thunk of the man's head against that pole made a grin spread wider and wider over his face, and those eerily beautiful eyes had been wide and shining with something insane. I had had to pull him away before he killed the poor man. I called 911, but we hadn't stayed behind to wait for the ambulance.

But he is losing it now. I watch somewhat warily as he picks up a biology book and hurtles it towards the opposite wall, a nice hole left behind as it falls to the floor. Then he is in my small closet and he rips out a towel, throwing it at my head and staring at me with heaving shoulders as he glares at me from beneath shaggy white bangs.

I don't know why he's so angry. He's not the one who got interrupted.

I tell him so and if it's even possible he gets more infuriated and he walks up to me and gets right in my face and his heavy breathing makes his chest expand out and touch against mine as he grinds out his words.

"Go get in tha goddam' shower and wash that disgustin' filth offa yerself righ' now."

This stokes my anger. What does he mean by disgusting filth? It's not exactly a secret between us that I'm gay and he's never before spoken up about being disgusted by my choice of lifestyle. I feel it rising up in me, that beast that I never really have been able to control and before I know it my right fist is smacking into the left side of his jaw and he stumbles back away from me with the force of it.

"Didn't know I disgusted you that much, brother. Fuck you."

And I turn to stagger step out of the door, stopping only to grab the little sports bag by its drawstring so that I have my soap and shampoo. I slam the door behind me and the walls rattle, the flimsy things. There is only five bedrooms on this side of the building because we got placed in an older dorm room on campus. We like it better that way because there aren't that many people we have to deal with when we are trying to get stuff done. The bathroom is a shared one, but there are eight stalls separated like cubicles, the walls tall enough so that you can't look over and see the face of whoever may be showering next to you. And instead of curtains to hide you from view there is actually a door, though it doesn't lock behind you in case you slip and fall and someone has to come in and help you. That's because a long time ago the doors would lock and some girl slipped and cracked her head open and by the time someone was able to kick down the door she had lost so much blood that she died on the way to the emergency room. Not a pleasant way to go.

I pick the last stall in the bathroom, slamming the door shut before knocking the same fist I had hit Shiro with into the tiled back wall of the stall with a crack, leaving it there to delight in the feel of the pain that sprints up my forearm. I think I split my knuckle open.

I stand shaking for a moment until I realize that I really do want a shower and strip the suddenly grungy feeling clothing off of me as quick as I can, staring down at my dirty feet with a raised lip. Ah yes, I have been barefoot for a while, haven't I? I throw my clothes on the floor outside of the stall and fish out my shampoo and body wash with my now bloody fist, throwing them carelessly on the floor as well as I turn on the water.

It hits me ice cold at first and I hiss out in displeasure. I hate cold showers. But at least my erection has died down for the most part and, painful or not, the cold burst of water should make it completely disappear. I lean my head against the tile of the back wall, my eyes closing as my anger slowly fades away as the water turns warmer and warmer, until it's not only hot, but scalding hot and flushing my skin red.

I don't mind it. I've been taking showers like this since I realized my feelings for my brother. When I wake up in the middle of the night with a straining erection and I so desperately want to touch myself while looking across the room at Shiro's face I force myself in here, under the pelting scalding heat to punish myself for my thoughts and I refuse to even get near my erection until it falls disappointed and aching between my legs once more.

It's a routine I am familiar with and, even though I know I shouldn't break the cycle, I can't help it. My spine aches, my ass aches, I feel sick and my half hard member is begging for me to just this once let it do what it wants. So I reach up with a shaky breath, standing beneath that too hot water, and let my fingers ghost over the flesh of my member and it twitches in response happily. I let out a small moan and give a little more as I wrap my fingers around it and offer a small squeeze, my eyes burning as I close them and breath out harshly against the tile.

It's not right, but I can't help it. Shiro's angry face flashes in my eyes and I suck in a sharp breath of air as I give my newly awakened erection a harsh tug, demanding it to go away and yet delighting in the little jolt of discomfort that snakes into my stomach.

I lift my free hand up and press my palm against the tiles, bowing my head as my eyes start burning more. I fight it as I loosen my grip and give a soothing stroke in apology, my breath hitching as a wide white grin flashes in my minds' eye, a blue tongue flicking out to smooth out over full lips.

I groan on a sob to cover it up, disgusted with what I'm doing and disgusted with the fact that tears are running down my face even though I try to convince myself that it's just water from the shower. I'm not fooling myself though and with the next stroke I open my eyes and stare teary eyed at the tile wall in front of me, taking in big deep gulps of air to try and steady myself.

And then there are hands on me, the smell of old spice filling me as I take in a startled gasp of air and go rigid, trembling as long fingers trail up my spine where the water isn't hitting me. My hand is frozen in mid-stroke and my throat closes up in horrified embarrassment. I don't want to look, I don't want to look!

I don't know what it is about twins, but we have a different mindset than other people. I don't really know why, it just kind of happens that way. At least that's what I think. Karin and Yuzu are in high school now and, unlike other siblings, they still lay around naked together after taking a shower and, no doubt, if the little shower at home could house two people at the same time, they would probably shower together. It's not a perverted thing, they are just that comfortable with each other and know everything about each other, so it's not that big of a deal. Though they might have gotten that from Shiro and I because we would take turns in the shower, but whoever wasn't in the shower would sit on the toilet seat and wait for the other to get done. That's just how things are between twins. There really is no privacy. When you share a womb with someone, privacy seems like such an unimportant thing, you know?

Shiro and I haven't done that since we came to college. Can you imagine the look on the other guys' faces if they walked in and saw us chatting away while showering? Or in the shower together, for that matter? The shower stalls are big enough to fit at least three people easily, so it wouldn't be all that hard. But I have avoided even saying anything like that to Shiro because when I realized that the attraction I had to him is physical... well. It would turn into a very awkward situation.

Like right now, for instance. I can't seem to move, even though I have my hand still on my suddenly very awake erection and it's straining at me hand like a dog on a leash. I swallow dryly and it makes me cringe with the effort, and then my skin is flushing for an entirely different reason because Shiro is too close... too close!... and his voice is soft and low just like it is when he first wakes up in the mornings.

"I had thought you to be a pitcher, Ichi."

And he has to know, he has to see what kind of position he has caught me in because he's so close that I can feel his breath on the back of my neck even though the water is thundering against my chest. His other hand joins the first, sliding up my back and over my side and I wince, looking down for a moment to see that there is a bruise on each hip where Zaraki had been holding onto me at first. I hadn't been aware that his grip had been so tight.

I force a shuddering breath out from my lips and pry my stiff fingered hand away from my pulsing erection, watching it as it jumps every now and then with my heartbeat. I clench my teeth tighter and want to crawl into a hole and die, because I just know he can see it. I can't figure out why he is still standing here after seeing what I was doing. I feel that disgust trying to overwhelm me and I bite down on my lower lip again, reopening the wound that I had given myself when I was getting it on with Zaraki.

His fingers slide up and sweep over the crook of my neck and I hiss out in pain, cringing at the spot where Zaraki had bitten me. I had forgotten about that. And now that my mind is catching up with what I had been doing, I notice the sting of water against fresh wounds and, sure enough, there are places on my chest where Zaraki's teeth had broken skin. I hadn't even realized I was bleeding at all.

I'm nearly choking now as I try to breathe. My lungs and throat just aren't working properly, and his hands on me like this have me wanting to climb up a wall. I know he's probably just saying sorry in a roundabout way, but those fingers dancing across my flesh are driving me mad. He slides them down and the skin at my lower back twitches at his touch and I hear a sound behind me that I don't quite register before his hand is around the back of my neck and pushing me down to bend at the waist and I finally gasp in a large breath of air that comes out as a cry.

Leaning over like this fucking hurts.

And then my mind goes blank because, Gods kill me and send me straight to hell, I let out the loudest and most distressed sound that I think I have ever heard. My mouth is wide open, tiny drops of blood dripping down to the white tiled floor to mix with the water as I stare wide eyed at the water swirling into the drain.

And then I'm keening a noise that I have only ever heard come from porn, and I'm scrabbling at the wall to get away... I have to get away! I nearly lose my footing and I'm caught by slender fingers on my hips and I start to hyperventilate in distress. That noise hasn't stopped coming from my throat and I don't know how to make it stop because I can't even think of how to do anything right now.

The reason, you ask?

Shiro, in one movement of that strange fluid grace that he's always possessed that makes me watch him whenever he walks or runs or simply moves, has molded himself over my back with teeth pressed against the mark given to me by Zaraki.

And his very hard, very long erection is sliding into me inch by agonizing inch and by now I'm in full panic mode because I can't exactly understand what's happening even though the answer is quite obvious.

When he's seated all the way in he offers the smallest of sighs, as if he had been holding his breath, and his teeth unclamp from my neck to allow his tongue to lazily lave over the darkening wound as if to sooth it.

I'm still panicking. You would think that I would be in absolute heaven right now, but I'm not. Mostly because I am so confused that I can't wrap my head around what's going on and why. His voice husks out again, though it sounds a bit strained, and my mind tries to scramble to make sense of the words.

"There. Can't have no marks on yer body tha' are from him."

God damn it, I'm still making that pathetic sound. Both my hands are pressed against the tile wall now, to keep my trembling form from completely collapsing, and the grip on my waist tightens and sharpens as his blunt black painted nails dig into my flesh. In my horror, I actually moan. I can hear the smile in his voice.

"You'll bruise worse on your hips."

I'm melting, I think. My hands are slowly sliding down the wall and in my surprise, my legs are giving out underneath me as well. He's going down with me, staying pressed up against me and inside of me, and I've finally ran out of breath so that that noise is dwindling away into nothing.

I'm on my knees now, my palms on the floor as I shake like a leaf against him. The only sound in the bathroom is the sound of the running shower, and the thundering of my blood in my ears. I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do!

A hand inches up the back of my neck and curls into the hairs at its base, tugging my head back so that I'm staring up as far as I can, and a pale cheek is pressed against mine with a hum as I gasp at the pain that rockets through my body at the strange way he has me bent.

"Why, Ichi?"

I don't have time to contemplate the question because he pulls out of me halfway and then jerks back in with another sigh and I am making another strange noise in the back of my throat that I can't keep in because he's still holding my head back by my hair. This is wrong. Gods is this wrong! Stop, stop...

"S-st-op.." It's a weak command and a hoarse whisper at best, and there is another sigh from Shiro as he grips my hair tighter, causing me to make a very unmanly like sound as my back bends further. He slides in and out again, the movement almost angry.

"You didn' mind it from him."

His voice has dropped a few octaves, a deep angry growl that I don't understand at all. I shake my head, but I don't know why. He picks my hips up a bit and shifts his own body, growling when he pulls out and sharply thrusts back in.

I howl, that spot that I had a taste of before with Zaraki found within a few thrusts of Shiro deep inside of me. Now I really am trying to crawl away as he picks up his pace, his hand too tight on my hips, his thrusts too fast and too brutal. He doesn't let me get far, that hand slipping down around the front of my right thigh to pull my leg back and I catch my fall with my forearms and a shout, the new position making him plunge deeper and I try to force the groan back down but it comes out anyways.

"P-please." I don't know what I'm begging for. My mind is a jumble of nothingness. He thrusts into that spot again and my groan is loud enough to echo. Gods, this is so wrong. It's disgusting, it's wrong...

It feels so good.

I can feel the tears coming again as he lets go of my hair and I slump against the tile floor, too weak to try and scrabble away from him. His hand travels down my spine and I arch like a cat as he continues to piston in and out of me, making sure that when he hits my prostate it's sharp and hard and demanding.

"Why?" Shiro croaks out behind me on a sigh, and I shake my head again. I don't understand! What do you mean, why? Why what? I struggle to try and get back up on my hands, the tip of his erection abusing my prostate and making me gasp and moan and want him to go harder and stop at the same time.

"I let you have Orihime," her name comes out as a moan when he thrusts particularly hard into me, the hands on my hips trembling as he holds tighter. "I even let," thrust, "you have Yumi." A thrust that drives a shouted call from my lips but I don't know exactly what I have said. It doesn't seem to sit too well with Shiro cause he bends over me and wraps his arms around my waist as he picks up speed again, his thrusts shallower but still angry.

His lips are by my ear. I don't know if I'm crying because it feels so disgustingly good to finally have him this way, or if I'm crying because it's so wrong but it doesn't matter because my body is filled with molten lava and all I can do is sit here on my knees and let him take me however he wants to take me. His words don't make any sense, I'm not understanding where he's going with them.

"Gods, I love you Ichi. So why?"

I can't understand. I'm really tying but I can't and he's inside of me and filling me and I can't think of anything past the feel of him sliding in and out of me. And then he's showering kisses across my shoulder blades and still fucking me on the floor of the shower and I just can't hold in the words when they come falling from my mouth.

"Why do you even care?"

And I don't know how, I don't know why, but something between us has changed without me knowing it; without me seeing it. He's pulling out of me and flipping me over and the water is falling against my abdomen now as I look up at him with wide, tear stung eyes. I don't move. He's got the most peculiar expression on his face. It's somewhere between shock and anger, as if he can't decide on which one he should be. My body wash is slick on his erection and it's standing proud between us and I notice that unlike mine (which is straight) his is slightly curved to the right and for some reason that simple knowledge fascinates me.

He reaches down slowly to place a hand against my cheek and I think he's wiping away my tears with the pad of his thumb because he's tracing my cheek bone. I'm breathing hard, we can both see my chest rising and falling in rapid succession but he doesn't even look as if he's been fucking me at all, his breathing steady and calm.

I move to turn my gaze away from him because although I have known how I feel about him for a while, it's too much and too soon and good God is it too wrong for us to be doing this. And I still don't even know why he's doing this, or why he's looking at me like that, or what he meant by his words. I don't like being confused, I don't like having to think through complicated things. I like the obvious answers, I always plunge into things without thinking. But this... this is just too much. I can't comprehend it. It was easy when I knew that I couldn't have him, even if it had hurt. It was easy cause I knew he couldn't and wouldn't ever feel the same way.

He doesn't let me look away. Instead, he moves his arms to hook underneath my knees and picks up my hips to settle his bent knees up underneath my lower back as he shoulders my legs. I don't know what to do, so I just lay there. Then he is moving towards me and my spine is bending in another unpleasant way but before I can even object he is sliding back inside of me but it's so slow and so gentle that it catches me off guard and leaves me gaping up at him in even more confusion.

He sighs again, that sound that makes him seem tired and yet relieved, and before I know it his lips are brushing against the tip of my nose, the curve of my jaw, the slope of my temple. And then he pecks me on the lips like we used to kiss when we were too young to know any better; once, twice, and then his lips are slanting over mine and I'm so shocked that I gasp. His tongue is smooth and I taste the flavor of the strawberry vodka and limeade juice that he had probably drank in our room when I first left for the shower and I'm falling into the kiss fast.

The double piercing in his blue tongue is cold against my own tongue and it makes me moan into the kiss. He must take this as a god sign because he starts rocking in and out of me, oh so gentle and way too slow, and I toss my arms around his neck to ground myself back on earth. He breaks the kiss with a nibble to my injured lip, his fingers sliding up my trembling sides as he breathes his answer against my lips.

"Cause yer mine."

I shudder at the insinuation and my back arches off the ground as he pushes inside of me deeper and then I'm mewling into his chest because his right hand has found my erection and his thumb nail is pressing into the slit and sending jolts of pleasure through my body.

"Ya understand? You've always been mine."

And then talking and words are no longer needed because my lips are seeking out his, wrong be damned, and his pace picks up as his fingers work magic along my pulsing erection. For a while the sounds of our bodies slapping together and cries from my lips are all that's heard, and then one particular well placed thrust sends me over the edge and my entire body tightens up as a hot coil in my belly snaps and I'm spasming against him as I ejaculate into his skilled hand.

I'm riding my high as he gathers me up into his arms and starts a pace faster and more demanding than even before, his body pressing so close to mine that I can feel his heart thudding against my own rib cage. And his lips are on my face again as he murmurs nonsense that neither one of us can understand but it doesn't matter because he locks lips with me the moment before he lets go as well, filling me up with a warmth that can only be his semen.

He slides his forehead to rest against my shoulder, his uneven breathing mixing and fighting with my own as I slump and rest my cheek on top of his soaked white hair. I don't know how long we plan on sitting like this, with his softening member still embedded inside of me, but I find that I can't bring myself to care nor can I bring myself to feel any type of disgust. He's right, as he always is.

I have always belonged to him. I just hadn't known to what extent.

The water is turning cold, and the retreating heat carries our sins down the drain with it.


	2. Down The Rabbit Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it has been quite a while since I originally wrote this and posted it on Fanfiction before recently transferring it here. The original plan had been to write 2-3 chapters, but I could never find the motivation to put to words what was floating around in my head..... until now. 
> 
> I personally want to reach out and thank Rebecca James who was, without a doubt, the person who slinked into my inner mind and ripped the muse that has been skillfully avoiding me until now to the forefront of my mind, demanding me to press onwards. 
> 
> Rebecca, this may not be what eases your dislike for this fic, or for my Shiro, but I do hope that at least it may answer some questions as to “why” my Shiro is the way he is, and why I personally love and feel sympathy for him overall. My greatest desire is that people enjoy my writing, even if they do not agree with the direction of my stories or are unable to understand or connect with how I wrote my characters. 
> 
> Thank you for being the nudge I needed. Though there is a chance you may not read this, or that you may still dislike the story at the end of this chapter, I could not have moved forward as needed without your candid honesty and indirect encouragement, so thank you from the bottoms of my heart. 
> 
> For everyone else that has dared to wander over to this particular “forbidden” ship, welcome to the madness that is my mind. As confused or twisted as you may feel overall, remember that I live with these thoughts running through my mind over and over until I can get them out, and remember that my soul endeavor throughout all of this is to create something that produces strong emotions- whether that be hatred, love, sadness, or a combination of all of those and more. 
> 
> With that being said, please enjoy (or hate) to your hearts content. 
> 
> As always, the pugs made me do it and all mistakes are mine.

When we were eight years old, Ichigo tumbled off of the high tower of a park play set. I had watched it happen almost in slow motion from my hanging bat impersonation I was doing on the monkey bars. There had been a brief moment where Ichigo’s terrified honey colored eyes locked with my own and then his whole horrified expression was hidden as he threw his arms up around his head on impulse and braced for the impact of the ground. The shredded rubber from repurposed tires made the fall less painful than it could have, but it still made Ichigo cry out in shock and there was a moment where the world became this distorted, staticky sort of thing before I was dropping like a cat to the ground and racing over to him as fast as I could. I’ll never forget the way Ichigo had looked at me that day through the small crack between his arms; tear bright eyes round as he fought not to cry and breath hissing from between his clenched teeth. 

I remember having a moment of pure relief, my galloping heart taking a little while to slow as I brushed a hand over his shoulder. Then the rage Came; a furious tsunami rising up from out of me and blazing as hot as a forest fire. It must have shown on my face because Ichigo sat up and reached slowly for me even as he winced, his voice soft as he spoke. “Shiro.... Shiro, no. It’s ok. I’m ok.” But it wasn’t good enough for me. I remember threading my fingers through his hair and offering him a smile that must have looked terrifying because he tried to plead with me again, but I stood up and turned away from him to look up at the playground tower. Ichigo had a heart of gold back then, he still does really. The world didn’t deserve a person so pure of heart and containing such a gentle soul. 

I never learned the name of the bigger boy who had pushed Ichigo off of the playset. Not that day nor the days that followed when our mother and father punished us by locking us in our room and only letting us out for bathroom breaks and school. Ichigo was being disciplined because he refused to let me take all the blame even though he didn’t do anything. What I did learn was that I was (and still am) willing to do anything to make sure that Ichigo stays happy and healthy, and if anyone ever threatens that, that they would end up like that nameless bully of a boy that day at the park- beaten, bloody, and crying. 

The older we got, the more protective I became. It’s not that Ichigo couldn’t look after himself- not after the park incident anyways. We both were enrolled in martial arts and kickboxing classes in an effort by our parents- our father mostly, being the doctor- to give us a channel for our “anger” as well as teach us self control while keeping our ability to defend ourselves if necessary. Ichigo, out of both of us, drank it in like water... a sponge eagerly filling with knowledge and strength. By the time we turned thirteen, Ichigo was the youngest and fastest in our district to reach black belt status, a feat that garnered awe and wary respect from instructors, competitors, and the general public. As for myself, I didn’t care about having trophies and a black belt and respect from those around me- I just needed them to fear the look in my eye that promised a very bad day of anyone were to mess with Ichigo outside of an official fight..... and they did. Whereas Ichigo was loudly and often praised for his skills, referred to as the “Dancing Sword” within and outside of the fighting world openly and with warm regard, the same voices barely dared to whisper their nickname for Ichigo’s shadow, the silent and watchful twin that often stood on the sidelines watching and waiting and ready to pounce at a moments notice. The name didn’t originate in the official fighting world but instead from the streets where I eventually carved a horrific mark upon our town for myself, forever being branded as “The Hollow” because of my “savage ruthlessness” by the age of sixteen. 

My entire adolescent and early teen life revolved around Ichigo. As far as twins go, no one thought much of it because it’s generally accepted that twins have a bond that most people can’t comprehend. 

Which is pretty much true, and that’s the way it was between Ichigo and I.... until around 16 years old. Hitting the teen years was normal enough when it came to puberty- annoyingly random acne, cracking voice, emotions that fluctuated with spurts of testosterone that came with awkward growth spurts and morning erections that could no longer be ignored to go away on their own. My school friend circle made up of the types of people that were the exact opposite of Ichigo’s friends drooled over their dads hidden porn magazines they had pilfered, but that never held any of my interest. Occasionally a magazine made it around to me that was full of naked women -and- men, which had me take a few clinical looks in curiosity but still, nothing. I didn’t put much thought into it- I didn’t need the sexual gratification that came from masturbating to pictures and pornography when I was content with making sure that Ichigo was safe; making sure that his bright smile and contagious laughter never faded away. Ichigo was and still is my bright summer sun.. a contrast to myself, the cold and distant moon, both physically and metaphorically speaking. People have always been attracted to Ichigo like sunflowers, stretching towards his brightness and warmth and never turning away from him. For me? I attracted the curious and daring; those who liked to test the waters of an untamed island, dipping their feet in with hammering hearts and floating along the adrenaline high of poking at a wild animal that couldn’t be controlled. An exotic specimen that people want to harness but never succeed. So girls and boys both would flirt and hint at their interest at me and be met with an indifference that seemed to encourage them instead of make them turn their interest elsewhere, and I pitied them because since I had no desire to test the limits of my overall sexual drive (for I was convinced I had none to test out) their efforts were both amusing and irritating.

It shouldn’t have surprised me that my sexual awareness and desire was awakened the way it was, but somehow it caught me off guard regardless. As with most everything else in my life it Came upon me carried upon the back of the only person in my life that mattered; Ichigo. Or rather not his back, but his strong long fingered hands- one wrapped around his own proudly standing erection and slicking up and down its length at a leisurely pace while the other was buried in his uniquely colored red-orange hair, tugging harshly at the strands as he bit down hard on his lower lip to attempt to keep back a breathy moan and failing. 

It was not uncommon for either of us to sit in the bathroom and talk while the other showered, though by that time we hadn’t done it in quite a while. The habit of leaving the bathroom door unlocked or slightly cracked was one Ichigo never completely broke and that particular day I had been searching Ichigo out to discuss the upcoming fight he had scheduled for the weekend against an older, more seasoned opponent. Brainstorming strategy was something we did particularly well together, after all. I had thought absolutely nothing of nudging the door open quietly, intent on sneaking up on Ichigo in order to scare him in jest, but instead of Ichigo being the one surprised the joke was entirely on me. 

Because standing there in the shower with his back leaned against the tile and water spattering over his chest from the shower head as he continued to masturbate to whatever fantasy he had cooked up in his mind, Ichigo graced me with a clear sight of the entirety of his lean and fight-toned body as it thrummed in the pleasure derived from his soapy hand. 

That was the moment I can pinpoint in my life where everything started going topsy turvey, where I felt as if some invisible rug had been snatched out from beneath my feet to leave me unsteady and stumbling through a rabbit hole I wasn’t prepared to fall through. It had been an immediate and relentless slam of lust straight into my gut, blood like molten lava coiling down to settle low within my abdomen. Out of all of the experimentation via magazines and videos and the occasional make out session with people whose names I couldn’t even remember, my initial curiosity of sex had never before ignited anything within me that made me wish to actually get into bed with someone else to figure out what all the fuss was about. 

In that moment I wanted absolutely nothing more than to shed my clothes and join Ichigo in that shower so that I could explore him with my tongue and see if he tasted as delicious as the picture he made while jerking himself off. I had taken a step closer without realizing, my fingers already moving up to unbutton my shirt when Ichigo had moaned out a long, drawn out sort of sound that ended on the hitching of his labored breathing and was followed by two pulsing streams of cum that hit the opposite side of the shower wall causing Ichigo to slump over, bending just enough to where the water began to pelt down on the back of his head and dampen those fiery locks to something darker. The few moments of labored breathing and Ichigo’s still shut eyes made it easy for me to back slowly out of the bathroom and close the door once more. I stood there for a minute, hot forehead pressed against the cold wood of the door, and listened as Ichigo finished his shower while humming and I barely made it to the bottom of the stairs leading to the front door before Ichigo had stepped out of the bathroom, thin towel slung low on his tapered hips, a somewhat satisfied and yet still somehow not expression on his face. 

Ichigo had texted me not long afterwards, asking me where I was and if I wanted to strategize, and it took me longer than normal to type back a response of ‘sorry Ichi, have plans. Tomorrow?’ It took even longer for Ichigo to respond, probably because it was the first time I had not dropped everything and rushed to his side when he asked, and when he did the single word message of ‘oh’ burned itself into my eyes and followed me all the way to the not so secret street fighting club where I spent most of the rest of the day and a majority of the night exchanging blows with every challenger that stepped forward, finally making it home a day and a half later (12 hrs before Ichigo’s scheduled fight), having spend my time fighting and then eventually.... finally.... fucking some girl that was eager to “show me a good time,” followed almost immediately by also fucking her very eager boyfriend who had watched. When that simmering lust and desire for Ichigo and anger and disgust at myself refused to fade away on its own, I had walked through the front door wearing borrowed shorts that would never find their way back to their rightful owner, scratches and bite marks and hickeys littering my chest and back like some twisted work of art, Ichigo had been waiting for me. He was sitting still as could be at the same small dining room table we had had for as long as I could remember, a mostly empty tea cup white knuckled between his hands and darkened eyes underlined by heavy bruised looking bags telling me that he probably hadn’t slept since I had left. My heart had fallen even further than it had that day years before when I had watched him fall from the playset, the guilt I already felt tripling as I took in his rounded shoulders and messy hair. He had trailed his eyes from my own and down the entirety of my body and then back up, hovering mostly at my torso where the evidence of my activities stood out starkly against my pale skin, before meeting my eyes again with something shadowed hovering within his shuttered gaze. I was met with the realization that for the first time ever I didn’t know what Ichigo was thinking. 

There’s something to be said about silence. Before that day I had never realized how thick and heavy it could be, pressed against the chest like a boulder attempting to crush a rib cage inward. Ichigo had risen from his chair, moved to place his cup in the sink, and then had left the kitchen to ascend the stairs and enter his room, the only sound being the soft snick of his door shutting that sounded loud to me, even though it wasn’t. 

Ichigo hadn’t come to me for our usual pre-fight planning after I took a shower, washing away the smell of sweat and blood and sex, and the next day he had done something he hadn’t done since the beginning of his tournament days; he lost. 

Badly. 

It wasn’t the lack of strategy, nor the lack of sleep. I had seen him power through competitions after not being able to sleep well for weeks beforehand and his mind was sharp enough to suss out the weaknesses other fighters had. It wasn’t weakness from barely touching any food; Ichigo was always able to summon strength from within to power through any lack of energy he may have. 

No, it wasn’t any of that, and that made the loss even worse . It was a fight that people talked about for weeks afterwards, voiced tinged with curiosity and compassion, because Ichigo didn’t lose because the fighter was better or stronger or faster than him. He lost because he had no fire, no drive. He didn’t weave out of the way of strikes, letting each blow crack across his chin or his chest or his abdomen. He barely defended his head at all, barely dodging fists that flew at his temple through the sheer desperate instruction yelled by his sensei. He would have lost based on points alone, but the fighter he was against saw a dirty opportunity when Ichigo’s eyes happened to lock with mine for a moment too long, and took it. Between one blink and the next Ichigo was laid out on the mats, the winner declared with his Knock Out. 

Ichigo hadn’t said anything about it when he woke up later in their fathers’ clinic being monitored from the resulting concussion, but something had shifted between us and never quite righted itself fully afterwards. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity to me but in reality was only a few weeks, Ichigo started smiling and laughing and hanging out with me again, but the laughter was too loud and the smiles too bright and holding a sort of jagged edge they never had before if one looked close enough, and I was always looking. 

From there Ichigo only fought one more opponent in an official match, and he was a vicious and silent thing; a tiger that danced around its prey before taking it down in one strong attack that was impossible to see coming and impossible to defend against. Despite the pleading of the sensei and other students, despite their parents encouraging him to continue, despite the teary eyed disappointment of their much younger set of twin sisters, and despite Ichigo’s clear talent for the sport of professional fighting, Ichigo left as quietly as he had burst into the scene taking the dreams of the townspeople who had envisioned a future world champion born and raised in our small city, known and loved by all, with him.

Upon his retirement from the sport of fighting, Ichigo had more time on his hands than he’d ever had before and along with that came the infuriatingly chipper Orihime, body outrageously blessed for a teenager of sixteen, hanging off of Ichigo’s arm and every word and very very much a female. I hadn’t much thought about Ichigo’s sexual preferences, if he had any, because that was one thing we had at some point silently agreed to not talk about way back as preteens when we still rolled our eyes if girls tried to talk to us. So it was a nasty surprise for me one afternoon when I came back to the house alone after being at school all day, a steaming hot container of spicy ramen bagged and hanging from my hand that I stopped to pick up for Ichigo since he had begged off of school for the day because he felt sick, to hear the tell-tale thumping of a headboard against a wall, a squeaking bed frame, and high desperate cries in a distinctly female voice rising higher and more wrecked sounding the faster the other noises went. 

It occurred to me in a distant out of body sort of way that I should have put the pieces together when I hadn’t seen or heard Ichigo’s big breasted leech all day when normally she’s impossible to ignore even if I wanted to. I don’t remember dropping the ramen to the floor, nor do I remember walking up the stairs like a zombie, but I do remember the moment that I stepped in front of Ichigo’s half opened door. He had had nothing to worry about, afterall- our father would be at the clinic until late, mom was out shopping with the twins that she had picked up straight from school after her half shift working as dad’s assistant, and when that happened they NEVER got home before the sun set, and I.... I was supposed to be out with my friends as I normally would be for a few hours after school. Movies and pictures and even the short moments I caught of him in the shower had absolutely nothing on what I witnessed that day.

The way the bed was placed gave me a pretty full view of the entire situation. Ichigo’s right hand, arm reaching up and over Orihime’s back, was curled tightly around one of the bars of the headboard. His left hand cupped the juncture of her bent hips, both holding her lower half up and off of the mattress while her chest was planted flat down, head facing away from the doorway and long hair spilled around her messily as her cheek dug into the pillow placed under it. The thumping and squeaking was louder up there, of course, as well as was her impressive impersonation of a wanton whore, but I could hear something else up there since I was at his doorway; the relentless and wet slapping of skin on skin as the muscles lining his back and glutes flexed and rolled to put strength and power behind his driving hips and the harsh breathing that escaped from his nose, jaw muscles clenched tight and eyes slitted so narrow that I couldn’t even see them. 

There was equal parts of vicious jealousy and hungry yearning tumbling around inside of me, my throat tightening and my mouth going dry as my vision narrowed down to the sight of Ichigo’s erection disappearing over and over again as he continued to work Orihime over, and I would have almost missed it entirely if Orihime hadn’t seized up in an orgasm that ripped a scream from her that shook the bedroom window and made me look back up at Ichigo’s face. He was still driving into her even as she moaned helplessly, overstimulated and yet begging for him to not stop in a sex-raw moan, when I noticed something peculiar. I must have made some sort of noise that had garnered Ichigo’s attention but that Orihime didn’t hear herself because Ichigo’s chin had tilted just so, eyes opening enough so that when Ichigo slid his gaze from between Orihime’s shoulder blades to pin me where I stood, I could clearly make out the way Ichigo’s pupil immediately blew wide to leave only a slender ring of honey visible. There was a brief moment where I had thought he would get angry or embarrassed at seeing me standing there watching them but Ichigo had simply shoved Orihime fully down against the bed, pushed her legs together so that he could strattle them, and then angled her hips at a frankly uncomfortable looking angle as he slid himself back inside of her where he proceeded to frantically thrust, hard and deep and growling out words that I couldn’t hear to understand, one hand yanking at Orihime’s hair and causing her to cry out again while the other hand kept her firmly planted down. 

I had stood there, shellshocked and realizing quite abruptly that this occasion definitely wasn’t the first time they had slept together given how responsive and ready she seemed to be to whatever Ichigo asked of her. As Ichigo brought her abruptly to another orgasm that seemed to surprise her as much as it had me I had felt myself hardening and flushing hot under Ichigo’s intense scrutiny. Our eyes were still locked a moment later when Ichigo’s hips stuttered and stopped on one last thrust into the writhing mess of the girl beneath him, an absolutely beautiful and filthy sounding moan tumbling out from between kiss swollen lips. 

Ichigo had continued to watch as I backed up a step and abruptly turned away. He had watched me as he passed through the kitchen where I was cleaning up the mess of ramen on the floor Leading a blushing Orihime past me on the way to walk her home. He watched me still much later as the rest of our family gathered around the table and laughed and ate the food dad had brought home with him for our dinners. He watched me all the way up until I mumbled goodnight to everyone and closed myself behind my bedroom door where I had fumbled frantically with my jeans, barely pushing them down to mid thigh before spitting in my hand and proceeding to have the quickest, most violent wank I’d ever had and not even feeling surprised at all that the memory of his powerful body working the way it had tipped me over the edge, black and white spots dancing behind my closed eyelids like fireworks, legs and arms and breath all shaking as if I had ran a marathon. 

It was then that I knew without a doubt that my soul was damned. It was as if some voracious, insatiable beast had awoken inside of me, starving for a meal that it could never have. So instead I did the next best thing- I dressed Ichigo and myself up every weekend and hauled him out to whatever club I could, slyly watching him grind against women and surprisingly enough eventually men as I let my hands roam over the women I would pick carefully. They all sported light brown eyes and ginger or auburn hair and I always imagined that every slender body beneath me was sculpted and hard from years of training and fighting, allowed myself to hear deeper more guttural moans instead of the light, breathy gasps of the women I bent over beds, counters, bar tops, and back seats of cars. 

I watched with a deep seated sort of loathing as lovers Came in and out of Ichigo’s life, some that stayed for a long time like Orihime, and some that were quick yet burnt hot like with the prick Yumi who came into Ichigo’s life like a little homosexual tornado, Ichigo’s heart left in the state one would usually leave a trailer park before disappearing. I might have hated Orihime on principle alone for being the first to taste Ichigo, to sully his purity and launch him into full blown manhood, but there wasn’t a single word in any language to describe how I felt about Yumi. If it weren’t for the fact that Ichigo had needed me to help piece himself back together after that fiasco, I probably would have tracked him down and slit his throat. Or bashed his head into a metal light pole..... which I knew for a fact could do enough damage to kill a man if there was enough anger and force behind it. 

I was so full of anger and resentment, in fact, that the only thing that kept me in any false state of sanity was the fact that I knew without a doubt that whereas Ichigo might have slept with both women and men alike, he had never allowed anyone to top him. As trivial that must have sounded to most, it was the only thing I had to hold onto. Ichigo never trusted anyone to that level; never felt comfortable enough to hand control over to someone else, and while I knew that I would never be able to claim him in that way it was a cool balm to my chaffed soul. 

And then. 

And then.... 

I had lost Ichigo for a single moment in time at the bar. The girl I had been dancing with and contemplating taking back to our shared dorm room regardless of the fact that she was more curvy than I typically tolerated had spun around and attempted to kiss me which was a hard no. I never kissed anyone mouth to mouth unless it was absolutely necessary. The act was too intimate and made shivers of disgust ripple over my skin when I thought of doing so to anyone other than... 

Other than..... 

And that’s all it took. Ichigo had disappeared from his precarious perch at the bar, and the uneasiness slammed into me like a heart attack making the female in my arms become immediately irrelevant. I had frantically searched the entire interior of the bar before stumbling out of the back door where most went to smoke or, to my immediate chagrin upon exiting, hook up. 

I could only see the shock of Ichigo’s hair against the dark red of brick and the all too familiar calves I frequently admired wrapped around the torso of a quite large and muscular man, but that hadn’t mattered. I couldn’t even recall most of what happened, nor how we arrived at our dorm room, I only recalled the absolute rage thrumming through my veins. Ichigo wasn’t supposed to let anyone defile him that way. No one was supposed to know the feel of being buried inside of him. No one ... no one was supposed to.... supposed to....

I had to Mark him. Cleanse him from the filth that clung to his skin and invaded his very essence. I couldn’t stand the smell of him. Something delicate within myself snapped; a barrier that had been worn too thin over the years to finally give way to... to....

It was a relief. A fresh gasp of clean, desperately needed air after being deprived for too long when I allowed myself to give in after so many years of fighting. Sliding into the shower behind Ichigo had been a sort of surrender in its own right, my hands and mouth and cock finding way over and inside of Ichigo as if it were meant to be as much as I had wished it to be. Words I couldn’t control and that made no sense escaped me, falling between us like an anchor and making me even more desperate since I wasn’t saying what I needed to say until finally, finally, finally....... 

Finally I wrapped my tongue around his own, sucking down the thick sweetness of his lips and mouth hungrily and unrelenting until I satisfied that inner beast of mine. The answer to his broken question of ‘why’ slid out of me as easily and as sure as the belief had ever been, thick with need and worship. “Cause yer mine,” I had slurred, drunk on the taste and feel of him unlike anything I had ever experienced before. 

He was like a finely tuned hunters bow, curving up off the floor in a feat of incredible flexibility, his entire body begging and pleading and who was I to deny Ichigo anything anymore? There was absolutely no reason I had been placed on this earth, the wreck that I was, other than to do what I had always strived to do- keep Ichigo happy. I had taken that to a new and forbidden level, but it still held truth. That previously strangled possessiveness had risen anew within me, frantically clawing at my heart and pushing out even more words that I should have kept to myself but had no strength left to do so. “Ya understand? You've always been mine."

It’s not long after that that Ichigo jerked in the confines of my arms, my hand slicking eagerly along his erection to milk out every ropey spurt of cum that I could, flashing back to the time I had watched him masturbate for the first time as well as having walked in on him nailing Orihime and watching him ejaculate inside of her while his eyes had remained on my own, and there’s a single moment where I gathered Ichigo up in my arms and allowed myself to fully contemplate exactly what Ichigo’s expression had been when he had let go. My mind had wandered helplessly, reflecting upon the dark unfathomable looks that Ichigo had sent me every time I told him I would be bringing someone back to our dorm. To the way he tactfully avoided any contact with the women that filtered through my bed. Latching onto that singular instance that had changed our relationship way back when I had sought the comfort of the fighting pit and the girl and her boyfriend that I had lost my virginity to, Ichigo having looked destroyed and disappointed in a way I hadn’t understood while I wallowed in my own self loathing and pity. 

My own finish caught me off guard, spilling into Ichigo so heavily that it creeped out around where I was buried inside of him, my lips dancing across the skin of his shoulder and neck. The water had turned cold, eventually, urging me to coax him onto his feet where I could personally see to it that every inch of him was clean and free of the taint he had picked up at the bar. Even slower was I able to dry him, going so far as to kneel before him as I trailed the towel down his legs, each foot cradled one after the other in my hands so that I could dry them as well. 

Laying here now on Ichigo’s bed, surrounded by the scent of him and weighed down by his head laying upon my chest and a naked leg draped over my just as naked thighs, I can’t find it within myself to bring forth the all too familiar emotions that normally surround me when I let myself even think Ichigo’s name in any manner other than platonically. I can’t bring myself to care about tomorrow, or the next day, or that what we had just done would revolt anyone who might find out. I can’t care for anything, actually, other than the way Ichigo’s soft hair feels betweeen my fingers or the way that his warm puffs of breath feel against my bare chest as he sleeps. 

I don’t let myself think of anything other than the desire to gently coax Ichigo awake with my hands and mouth, and of which position I would like to next explore with him. I don’t think of anything other than what his cum must taste like, or what things might make him lose himself and make him shatter. I don’t think of anything other than what it’ll feel like to finally have Ichigo thrusting himself inside of me with the sort of enthusiastically hard flexes of his muscles that I witnessed with Orihime. The thought of Ichigo taking me in that way, of claiming a part of me that I had never let anyone have before, sets the smoldering fire within me to a raging inferno once more and I let all thoughts leave me entirely and set to finding out the answers to all of those questions. 

The rest of the world and reality can wait.


End file.
